Category : Poems
Sub Category : N/A
He keeps to himself most days,
Though the docs say that's not healthy.
Jotting down what's in his mind,
Imagining that he's wealthy.
True wealth, he knows, is not in material things.
But tender moments, joyous times,
And that which makes the heart sing.
He has good friends, for which he's grateful,
But he finds himself becoming,
Less and less social.
He buries himself in solitude,
Not giving it a second thought.
Isolated in darkness,
He fears his mind will rot.
Never the cool kid,
Never just one of the guys,
He's been somewhat a loner,
He's always been on the outside.
Now that he's older,
he's grateful that he was.
The world is so much colder,
And he trusts almost no one.
He knows that it's not good,
To want to stay inside.
He doesn't want to impose,
To bum his friends with his life.
So he sits in this room,
with all the curtains closed,
And jots down new verses,
He likes to be alone.
-samhudson
